The mothers are the weepiest, the elderly distant salutatorians. Tiny girls. Tiny women. Tiny mothers, with their tiny mistakes, refusing to accept th...t the party is over, that they can’t apologize or write an essay or do community service to get away with their particular error in judgment. Some of them have decided to clasp motherhood with arms of lead, and those ones don’t cry. They plot. There are two of them. Cheyenne lays down a five card straight. ‘Fuck a duck!’ My hands drop the cards.. “Charles ‘Rapey’ Royce is dead. I smote him dead myself. That’s basically my last act as your angelic guide. I must depart now and you guys are now entirely on your own. No more divine protection, at least not from me and not for the near future. Time to start wearing clothes again. Most of the time. Thankfully, there’s no reason not to go naked indoors. And once you reach safety again, well, you know... “While the Dark Ravens quarrel among themselves, that will buy time for you to send Anwyn,. “Calm down, Sandy,” he purred, leaning against the door and crossing his arms. Two things that made my blood boil even more. First, I hate being called Sandy. And second, my soon to be ex-husband used to tell me to calm down all the time…a condescending phrase that drove me to the brink of insanity every time he used it. I reached over his shoulder for the dead bolt, but he grabbed my wrists and held them tightly. “Let go of me,” I hissed through clenched teeth. But instead, he pulled my body. He cut across his overgrown lawn, making for the trail he had cut years ago, the trail that led down to the sea. To the trail that had been cut, he could see now, for just this walk. He stopped at a white skinned birch and looked up at it’s narrow branches, at it’s autumn finery now long spent, waiting for the next storm to bring an end. He reached out and placed his hand on the tree, feeling it’s strength, his sorrow like the coolness of the tree’s skin. He turned and reached out to the house.
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